


The Food of the Gods

by imkerfuffled



Series: 62 Things The Avengers Are Not Allowed To Do [1]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: But i think i managed to not do a bumbling idiot characterization which i hate, Gen, I'm walking a line here with Thor's characterization, Skippy's List, Steve is a little shit, Thor likes pop-tarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-16 14:49:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3492422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imkerfuffled/pseuds/imkerfuffled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1. Tony is not allowed to replace the entire contents of the cafeteria with pop-tarts just because Thor has declared them the ‘food of the gods.’</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Food of the Gods

**Author's Note:**

> I am clearly a brilliant human being for starting another series in the middle of writing my Clintasha one, but I was stuck on that, and I already had this in my drafts, so here you go.

**1.Tony is not allowed to replace the entire contents of the cafeteria with pop-tarts just because Thor has declared them the ‘food of the gods.’**

It began harmlessly enough. Steve was sitting in front of the television, indulging in what he’d decided (most recently) was the best invention of the twenty-first century, while Clint and Tony sat with him. Or, more accurately, Clint perched on the back of a chair, and Tony sprawled over an entire couch in a way that couches were never meant to accommodate. All three men stared slack-jawed at the TV, too exhausted after their latest mission to pay attention to the mindless reality show that played on the screen. 

“I don’t get it,” Clint said, addressing the television. 

“I think she’s been ordered to pick a stranger to marry in the most melodramatic way possible,” Tony answered in as dead a voice as Clint. 

“It’s disgusting,” said Steve. 

Clint took a moment to respond. “That’s not even what I was talking about.” 

“Oh,” Steve said. Tony grunted. 

“They’re not even that good,” continued Clint. 

“They’re terrible,” said Steve, still thinking about reality TV. 

“No, not that,” Clint said, _“That.”_ He gestured at the box in Steve’s hands. 

Steve looked down at it. “What, pop-tarts?” 

“Yeah.” 

While they were talking, Thor wandered into the room and cocked his head at the TV in obvious confusion. 

“How could you say that?” Steve said, “They’re the best things in the world.” 

“Bro. No. _Bro.”_ Clint stared at him with a scandalized expression usually reserved for statements like “I was best buds with Hitler,” or “You can’t eat all that pizza.” 

“Why is the lady on the screen being propositioned by two men?” Thor asked no one in particular, “I thought the Midgardian tradition was for merely one man to wed a woman.” 

“They both want to marry her so they’ll win a bunch of money and get divorced a month later,” Tony explained. 

“They’re too dry,” Clint told Steve, “and there’s not enough filling. It makes them all crumbly.” 

“Why would they wed for money? Is marriage in Midgard not meant to be a bond of love?” Thor squinted at Tony. 

“You’re crazy,” Steve said, more animated now, “Pop-tarts, and especially these cinnamon pop-tarts, are without a doubt the greatest culinary development the twenty-first century has ever produced...” 

“Yeah, in real life people get married ‘cause they’re in love, but that’s not real life. It’s a TV show disguised as real life.” 

“... They’re heaven on earth. They’re like ambrosia. They’re the food of the—” 

“NO!” Clint shouted. 

“—Gods…” 

Thor spun to face Steve, giving the TV show up as a lost cause. “What is this food you speak of?” he asked, “Perhaps I have partaken of it in the past.” 

Clint groaned, while Steve subconsciously clutched the box of pop-tarts closer to his chest. 

“No, Thor, you’ve never partaken of—you’ve never had it, okay. Probably not,” said Clint, “It was just an expression. It means he thinks they taste really good.” 

“If the Captain believes so then I must try one!” Thor said, “What is it that you speak of?” 

“Pop-tarts,” Steve showed him the box, and the god’s eyes lit up. 

“I have indeed tasted that Midgardian delicacy,” he said (Clint pulled a face at hearing them called a delicacy), “Although it has been some time since last I ate one, and I do not believe I have tried this particular flavor. May I have one?” 

“Um…” Steve peered inside the box, then at the pop-tart wrappers surrounding him on the couch, “Well, there’s only one left, and I, er…” 

“You don’t want one, bro, they taste like shit. Cap’s taste buds were frozen off in the ice.” 

“Actually, um, Clint’s right. Not about the taste buds. They’re really not that good after all. I mean, they’re okay, but—” 

“Shut up, Monica’s about to choose between Chad and Brendon!” Tony suddenly shouted. 

They all fell silent for a second, enthralled by the embarrassingly dramatic show. (Actually, only Tony was enthralled. Clint was giving him a funny look, and Steve and Thor were still thinking about cinnamon pop-tarts.) 

Finally Steve’s moral instinct won out, and he sighed and held his box out for Thor. “Sorry, of course you can have one,” he said, while Tony flapped his hand at him and made shushing noises. 

The god of thunder snatched up a pop-tart, brightening considerably. “Thank you, good Captain,” he said, tearing off the wrapping, “It always pleases me to try new Midgardian foods.” 

_“Shhhhh!”_

Thor popped the entire pop-tart in his mouth, ignoring Clint’s insistence of “no, bro, don’t do it. You have so much to live for.” Slowly, Thor’s eyes widened to fill his face, and his eyebrows shot into his hairline. 

“You were not lying, Captain Rogers,” he cried through a mouth full of pop-tart, “This is indeed the food of the gods. How could I ever have forgotten? Another!” 

Tony slid his eyes over to the god of thunder. 

……… 

Weeks later—after Thor had taken to carrying a box of pop-tarts around the tower and offering them to everyone he met, after Steve had become thoroughly sick of the snack and never wanted to see another pop-tart in his life, after Natasha had nearly strangled Thor on three separate occasions, Clint had begun shooting them out of Thor’s hands, and Bruce was just mildly amused by it all—Steve opened the refrigerator to find it filled with nothing but pop-tarts. 

For a full minute he stood there, expressionless in front of the open fridge, with his fists slowly clenching around the frame and door handle. 

“Tony,” he said slowly, still staring into the depths of the fridge, “What is this?” 

Behind him, the genius superhero froze on his way through the kitchen. “Hmmm?” he said innocently. 

“What. Is. This?” 

“Oh, that!” Tony grinned, “It’s the food of the gods.”


End file.
